


Forgive Me

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your face says otherwise, dear Apollo."</p><p>Enjolras scoffs at the nickname, mostly to cover the embarrassment at being caught crying by Grantaire of all people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgive Me

Enjolras awakens with a jolt, eyes snapping open as he registers the inky blackness that night has painted over the barricade. To his surprise, his cheeks are wet. He goes to wipe it away, but freezes when he hears a familiarly cynical voice.

"Nightmare?"

Grantaire turns on his side, using the ever-present bottle as leverage, and gazes at Enjolras with a curious expression.

Enjolras shakes his head, golden curls bouncing gently. Their colour reminds Grantaire of spun flax, or the last moments of light on the horizon before the sun sets. They hadn't seen the sunset that evening, too mindful of National Guard bullets to risk climbing atop the mass of furniture and broken wood.

"On the contrary, a dream."

"Your face says otherwise, dear Apollo."

Enjolras scoffs at the nickname, mostly to cover the embarrassment at being caught crying by Grantaire of all people.

"It was a very happy dream", he admits softly, so as not to wake the others who slumber around them. "I only wish that it had been true."

"How did you know it wasn't?"

A wry smiles stretches the leader's lips.

"At first, I thought it was. The people had risen and our barricades were towers in the sky. Paris was ringing with the roars of freedom and even the National Guard stood down."

"They asked us to build a new France, Grantaire, a better France where the people were no longer crushed under the heels of the aristocrats and the punishment for trying to steal a loaf of bread was a warm meal and the promise of work. They looked to us for guidance and we taught them how to be free."

Enjolras sighs. In a way he supposes it should be inspiring, a good omen But then again, a group of students taking on the government has always sounded like the beginning of one of those awful jokes Bossuet is fond of telling in mid-meeting.

"But then I noticed you. You were sat at the middle table, celebrating with the others."

His smile, Grantaire notices, doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Your bottle lay in the corner, forgotten."

"Oh."

Oh.

And Grantaire suddenly feels as worthless as he knows he has always been, a mix of regret and shame twisting his guts as he tries to think of something, anything, to say to his Apollo. 

His leader, the one person he believes in above all else, is also the person he had been foolish enough to think saw more in him than a jaded drunkard.

Enjolras's smile quivers into a grimace and he looks up at the night sky, blinking rapidly.

Grantaire should have known he was wrong. He's always wrong. The only reason the Amis let him stay is out of pity for a broken man; they see him as he sees himself, minus the internal loathing. His life has been an alcoholic wreck of mistakes and misery, cynicism and self-hate, where the only constant was the absinthe.

Why should this be any different? 

He lets a blank expression mask his face and looks away, not trusting himself to meet Enjolras's eyes. 

"We should go back to sleep." 

Grantaire doesn't mean for the hurt to colour his tone, but the silence that clouds the air between them as he rolls over and closes his eyes says more than any words can.

He misses the fresh tears that swell and roll down Enjolras's cheeks, like a raincloud bursting all at once.

\-------------------------------

Later, when the barricade is a ruin of crushed ideals and broken young bodies, when the streets ring with the echoes of pleas for help and screams of pain, Grantaire offers his forgiveness with a quiet request. 

Enjolras accepts it with a bittersweet smile.

**Author's Note:**

> And here I was thinking I'd never write fanfiction. I blame Tumblr.


End file.
